drifting in pairs
certain ways
towards the sky
after winters long exhale
trailing off
passages
moments left
for miles around
forest for the trees
The vikings said that eagles show their claws, even when they are dying.
There are places still.
There are places still where the past doesn’t matter.
There are places still unaffected by those who came before. Their survival imparts no help for your own, where the father is no more informed than the son.
There are places which require knowing one’s self as if we were each simply scraping out an existence under the infinite sky rather than hiding pieces of ourselves in different pockets of place, time, and memories cataloged in metropolises of past tense verbs.
above the river
comb and brush
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